34. Calliope #3
I go upstairs to change before I can stand there and dissect the taste of it.
My interview clothes wait on the bed where I laid them out last night: navy blazer, cream blouse, trousers that make me look steadier than I feel.
I dress slowly, checking the mirror after each layer as if professionalism is something I can button around my ribs.
When I reach for my earrings, my fingers shake, and I have to set them down until the tremor passes.
Sloane finds me before I finish. He comes in without knocking because this is our room, because he has never treated any door between us like more than a suggestion unless I needed it to be one.
He doesn’t say anything at first. He only stands behind me in the mirror, large and rumpled and beautiful, his eyes fixed on my reflection like he’s trying to keep me in the glass.
“You look terrifyingly competent,” he says.
I pin one earring in place. “That’s what I was going for.”
His hands come to my waist, and he bends to kiss the side of my neck. The touch is gentle, but his breathing is rough. “I meant what I said. You get the offer, and it feels right, we talk about it. We don’t let fear make the decision before the future gets a vote.”
“What if the future wants something that hurts?”
“Then I hold you while we figure out how to make it hurt less.”
I turn in his arms and touch his face. “You make it sound simple.”
“I’m lying.” His smile flickers and fails, leaving only love underneath. “I’m scared out of my mind, baby. But I’m not scared of your life getting bigger. I’m scared of anyone making you think you have to shrink for ours.”
I kiss him because I can’t answer that with words. He holds me through it, one hand at my back and one at my shoulder, careful around the bite and reverent because of it. By the time he lets me go, Idris is in the doorway with my bag over one shoulder and my phone in his hand.
“You left this by the coffee maker,” Idris says, and his eyes move over my face with the same precision he brings to every locked door and every risk assessment.
“You’ve got your charger, your folder, your keys, and the protein bar I’m putting in the front pocket because you’ll forget which side pocket I used. ”
“I’m not that bad.”
“You are exactly that bad when you’re nervous.” He steps close, opens the front pocket, and tucks the bar inside with solemn focus. Then he sets the bag down, cups the back of my head, and kisses me in front of Sloane with a quiet possession that sends warmth down my spine. “Text when you arrive.”
“I will.”
“And when Theo gets there.”
“Yes.”
“And when the interview ends.”
I lean my forehead against his chest because it is easier than crying again. “Idris.”
His hand moves over my hair. “I’m making a list because it’s keeping me from asking you to stay.”
That makes me look up. His face is calm, but his eyes aren’t. I rise on my toes and kiss him again, slower this time, trying to give him back a fraction of what he has been giving me all morning. He takes it with a low sound in his chest, his hand tightening at my waist before he releases me.
Downstairs, Theo waits by the front door with my sweater folded over one arm instead of pressed to his face. It looks like an effort. It looks like him trying to be brave for me, and the sight nearly ruins all the work the blazer has done.
I hold out my hand. “Walk me out?”
He takes it immediately. “I can do that.”
We move through the foyer together, with Sloane behind me and Idris at my side.
Garrett stands near the console table holding Theo’s light jacket and his phone, already prepared, already helpful.
The house smells like warm laundry, prepared food, restless Alpha, and the sweet, aching edge of Theo’s body getting ready for something none of us can stop.
It should smell like care. It does smell like care.
I still feel the door closing before anyone touches the handle.
On the porch, the morning air is cool enough to make me breathe deeper. Theo turns toward me, my hand still caught in both of his, and kisses my palm the way he did earlier. This time, he speaks afterward.
“I’ll see you at lunch,” he says. “And then you’ll come home after the interview.”
“Yes.” I bend and press my forehead to his. “I’ll see you at lunch, and then I’ll come home.”
Sloane steps in the moment Theo lets me go. His goodbye kiss is hard enough to make my breath catch and careful enough to keep from stealing the morning from me. “Call me for anything,” he says against my mouth. “Good news, bad news, panic, directions, ugly campus carpet. I want all of it.”
“You’re going to get carpet photos now.”
“Good. I’m emotionally prepared.”
The tiny thread of humor helps only because his eyes are wet. Idris kisses me last, one hand at the back of my neck, the other closing around my bag strap and settling it more securely on my shoulder after he lets me go.
“Go be excellent,” he says.
Garrett opens the door before I can lose my nerve. “The pack will handle things while you’re gone, Calliope.”
I look at him, then at Theo in my sweater, at Sloane’s hand flexing like he’s forcing himself not to pull me back, at Idris’s steady face and unsteady eyes. The sentence sits in the porch air, reasonable and supportive and just wrong enough that my chest tightens.
I make myself smile. “I’ll text when I arrive.”